The following case, related by the same writer, will show still further the flagrant injustice of Inquisitorial tribunals. "There was, at Seville, a certain poor man," says that author, in his own homely style, "who daily maintained himself and his family by the sweat of his brow. A certain parson detained his wife from him by violence, neither the Inquisition nor any other tribunal punishing this heinous injury. As the poor man was one day talking about purgatory with some other persons of his own circumstances, he happened to say, rather out of rustic simplicity than any certain design, that he truly had enough of purgatory already, by the rascally parson's violently detaining from him his wife. This speech was reported to the good parson, and gave him a handle to double the poor man's injury, by accusing him to the Inquisitors as having a false opinion concerning purgatory; and this the holy tribunal thought more worthy of punishment than the parson's wickedness. The poor wretch was taken up for this trifling speech, kept in the prisons of the Inquisition for two years, and at length compelled to walk in procession at an auto-da-fé, wearing the infamous sanbenito. After suffering another three years' imprisonment, he was dismissed. Neither did they spare the poor creature any thing of his little substance, though they did his wife to the parson, but adjudged all the remains of what he had after his long imprisonment, to the exchequer of the Inquisition."
Large promises of pardon and favour are usually held out by the Inquisitors to all who voluntarily accuse themselves of crimes which are hidden from the eye of man. But whoever thus puts himself in their power, finds to his sad experience, that the promises of Inquisitors are no more than wind, and intended only for a snare to catch the unwary. Of this we shall select only one example, from many which might be given. In 1644, Antonius de Vega, allured by the professions of sympathy and kindness which the Inquisitors pretended to show to all who voluntarily made confession of their crimes before the holy tribunal, accused himself of having, at a former period of his life, entertained the opinion that a man might be saved by the law of Moses. This error, however, he had long since renounced, and he therefore begged the promised absolution from the judges of the holy office. But, alas! what must have been his astonishment and horror, to hear the mild and merciful lords of the Inquisition order him to be confined in the dungeons appropriated for heretics! After three years' imprisonment, the miserable confessor was condemned to appear at an auto da-fé, wearing the sanbenito, his property was confiscated, and himself banished. [23]
"Not lions crouching in their dens
Surprise their heedless prey
With greater cunning, or express
More savage rage than they."
Even the death of a prisoner is no barrier against the fury of the Inquisition, or the grave an asylum against its persecutions. His bones, in the event of being buried, are dug out of the grave and burnt, his memory is declared infamous, and his children are disinherited. Many are the instances of this barbarous practice on record, the chief motives of the holy tribunal in thus waging war with the dead, being to gain possession of their property. In proof of this, we shall notice the two following examples only.
In the first auto-da-fé at Valladolid in 1559, Donna Leonora de Vibero, the mother of five children, who appeared as criminals on this occasion, had died some years before, and was buried in a sepulchral chapel of which she was the proprietress. No suspicion of heresy was attached to her at the time of her death; but, on the imprisonment of her children, the fiscal of the Inquisition at Valladolid commenced a process against her; and certain witnesses under the torture having deponed that her house was used as a temple for the Lutherans, sentence was passed, declaring her to have died in a state of heresy, her memory to be infamous, and her property confiscated; and ordering her bones to be dug up, and, together with her effigy, publicly committed to the flames; her house to be razed, the ground on which it stood to be sown with salt, and a pillar, with an inscription stating the cause of its demolition, to be erected on the spot. All this was done, and the last mentioned monument of fanaticism and ferocity against the dead was to be seen until the year 1809, when it was removed during the occupation of Spain by the French.
The other case referred to is of a later date. In the beginning of the seventeenth century, Marc Antonio de Dominis, archbishop of Spalatro, was considered one of the most learned men of his age, particularly in divinity and history, both sacred and profane. His learning made him inquisitive, and it was at length discovered that he had embraced the doctrines of the Reformation. Having written a large work on the Christian Church, he was exceedingly desirous of having it published during his lifetime; but this he was aware could not be accomplished in Italy. Sir Henry Wotton, who was at that time the English ambassador at Venice, gave Dominis a letter from James I. King of Britain, inviting him to come to England. This invitation was accepted by Dominis, and enjoying the patronage of James, who settled a pension on him suitable to his dignity, he published the work which he had so much at heart. Happy would it have been for him had he remained in England; but the pope, the Inquisition, and the Spanish ambassador, made such vast offers both of pardon and remuneration, as first shook his resolution, and finally induced him to accept of them. The unhappy prelate forgot, on this occasion, what he had often repeated in his works, namely, that the court of Rome never forgets or forgives an affront.
He accordingly set out for Rome, in spite of all the arguments of his friends in England to the contrary, who represented to him the danger to which he exposed himself, and how difficult, if not impossible, it would be for him to escape. The result was such as might have been expected; for no sooner did he arrive in Italy, than he was arrested and confined in the prisons of the Inquisition at Rome. His trial went on very slowly, and he at length died in prison, according to some authors, "through the effects of poison administered to him by his own relations, in order to spare him and themselves the shame of his being brought out in an auto-da-fé."